


Vagabond's Chocolates: The Lads

by SavIsSleeping



Series: Vagabond's Chocolates [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Baker!Ryan, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Minor Character Death, Prequel, Vagabond's Chocolates AU, character intros, little lads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavIsSleeping/pseuds/SavIsSleeping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Character Backgrounds for the Lads in "Vagabond's Chocolates" FAHC AU with Little Lads.<br/>Might write a full story later, but it's how the lads came together at least.<br/>Based on this post: http://mormonbae.tumblr.com/post/132669383921/fake-ah-crew-headcanon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Michael Jones

**Author's Note:**

> There were only a few universal rules of Los Santos:  
> -Don’t pick a fight with someone bigger than you if you don’t have a better gun.  
> -Don’t turn your back on someone unless you want to be stabbed.  
> -Don’t screw with the Fake AH Crew  
> -DON’T steal from Vagabond’s Chocolates.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's Introduction.

There were only a few universal rules of Los Santos:  
-Don’t pick a fight with someone bigger than you if you don’t have a better gun.  
-Don’t turn your back on someone unless you want to be stabbed.  
-Don’t screw with the Fake AH Crew  
-DON’T steal from Vagabond’s Chocolates.

Unfortunately, Michael has never been very good at following rules.

Michael Jones was born and raised in Los Santos. He knew the dark alleys and the city streets like the back of his hand. He could hold his own against the criminals, drunks, and, when necessary, the police. Not that a 7-year-old had much need to avoid the police, but… things happen.

Things like being a homeless kid with sticky fingers.

Well, the homeless part was fairly recent. Los Santos had a tendency to corrupt, and Michael's parents had never been particularly responsible. His parents began to get a little too drunk and a little too lenient with what little cash they had; they stopped bringing home groceries and started throwing him out of the house (sometimes rather forcefully), and fighting back never worked out in his favour. On one particularly violent occasion, Michael managed to grab his few belongings on his way out, and he didn’t come back.

And so the angry, russet-haired boy started living on the streets. His knowledge of the city proved invaluable as he searched for relatively safe places to sleep, "fresh" food to eat, and busy streets to beg and pickpocket for cash to keep himself alive. He earned a reputation for his fighting and his rage, and he did well for himself. Still, life on the streets could get very lonely. Especially for a kid like Michael.

That's when he found Ray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's Michael's Introduction! Probably the shortest of the 3.  
> Next up: Ray's. Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts!


	2. Ray Narvaez Jr.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray's introduction.

Ray Narvaez Jr. had always been skinny for his age. His mom was constantly nagging him to eat more, go outside more,  _ do  _ more. It was all out of love, of course, but frankly, Ray couldn't afford to listen. Because if he ate more, his mom didn't eat. If he went outside more, his mom was alone. If he did more, he couldn't be sure that she would too.

They had moved to Los Santos after his dad walked out on them, searching for a new life with new possibilities. They had been there for a little over year, and Ray's mother still hadn't found a steady job. She took whatever paying work she could find, which was enough to keep them afloat for a while...barely. But raising a growing kid as a single mother was never easy, and Los Santos was unforgiving. After the third consecutive week of watching his mother skip dinner so that he could have his ("Come on,  _ mijo,  _ you need to eat more!"), Ray waited until his mother fell asleep and snuck out of their apartment. 

By the window of a store a few doors down from their apartment was a tip jar on a counter, next to a small hole in the window left in the aftermath of a gang attack. Ray passed by it every day on his way home from school and was always amazed at how seemingly insecure the place was, given its location; he went there immediately. The only people out this late were drunks and criminals, but Ray was small enough to hide in the shadows without being spotted. He reached the store, and saw again through the bars over the windows that tiny, rampant hole. The owners had put paper over it, certainly, but hadn't felt the need or simply hadn't been able to patch it up completely. Why would they? It was an innocuous breach in the integrity of the glass. 

And it was the perfect size for Ray's tiny hand. He'd had to do a bit of extra work to get to its height, but once there he easily peeled back the makeshift cover and reached inside, grabbing a handful of bills from the conveniently placed jar and quickly retrieving his arm from the hole. The broken glass had left a scratch on his elbow, but there was no other sign of his entry. He replaced the paper and practically ran home, stuffing the bills under his pillow and finally going to sleep. Ray told his mother he had picked up an after-school job and got tips from the neighbourhood- which wasn't entirely untrue- to explain the cash she found under his pillow the next day. And that night they both ate dinner. 

Ray started sneaking out almost every night after that. He found that his size finally worked to his advantage as he squeezed through impossibly tiny openings into shops and houses and, once, a small warehouse.  He took only what they needed and what he could reasonably pawn as his own, and always made sure to leave no trace other than the missing items. It was the perfect system... until he accidentally robbed a Gang boss's safehouse. He hadn't seen the discrete security cameras that had captured his face and traced him home. He hadn't known that he would come back from school the next day to his mom surrounded by a group of large, threatening men, tied and beaten to within an inch of her life. They had lunged for him when he opened the door, a greeting to his mother caught in his throat, and his only thought had been to RUN, run as far and fast as possible, to cut through the chain link fence in the alley because he knew they couldn't follow him there, to try and not be hit by the bullets they shot as a last ditch effort to bring him down. 

Ray ran for miles. He ran until his legs gave out from under him, and he fell to the ground with a  _ thud _ that cracked the lense of his glasses and scraped the palms of his hands. He was lost, in a dark alley in an increasingly treacherous city, and he was alone. Ray moved to the dumpster against one of the brick walls, and tried to be quiet as he cried himself to sleep. 

The next morning, Ray took stock of his surroundings and his situation. He couldn't go home, he knew that, but all he had were the clothes he was wearing and his ratty old backpack with his school supplies and his GameBoy- he had no food, no money, and nowhere to go. He wanted to sit there forever and  _ cry _ , and he wanted to be home and with his mom, but he couldn't have either and eventually the growling of his stomach won out. He forced himself to stand and make his way out of the alley that had been his refuge for the night. He could go to the police, but everyone knew they were about as reliable as a piece of paper over a hole in a window. So he started finding ways to take care of himself- he was exceptional at begging, with his large brown eyes and skinny frame doing most of the work getting him pity money. Pickpocketing wasn't as easy, but he was nimble enough that he could manage it... usually. Once or twice he'd been caught, but he'd gotten away with as much as a slap on the wrist. 

And that's how it worked out-- he didn't mess with other people and they didn't mess with him. He knew The Rules and he was good at following them, and he stayed alive on his own. He didn’t need anybody and nobody needed him, and he liked it that way. Nights were lonely, but Ray knew how to cope; his GameBoy had died weeks ago but if he really needed comfort, he could bring it out and hang onto it, or pretend to play it and make up the game in his head.

On one particularly quiet night, Ray had found a mostly abandoned alley to be his shelter from the road. The only other inhabitants were what looked like a few unconscious drunkards, further into the alley, cuddling bottles as their heads rested against garbage cans. Ray found a box that shielded him from the view of the street and sat down heavily, exhausted by the events of the day- he had been unsuccessful in getting any money, which meant he hadn’t eaten. He pulled out his worn device, hoping to get some comfort from the familiar buttons and dark screen. He pushed the power button out of habit, allowing the dim red light to flicker and give out without actually turning on the device. In his mind, he pulled up his favourite pokemon game and began to pretend to play. He hadn’t noticed that he had been producing his own sound effects until he was jostled by the boot of a greasy, heavy man who had minutes prior been passed out against a dumpster.

“Whaddya got there, kid?” he slurred, still obviously very drunk. Ray shrank back, trying to hide his gameboy and himself against the thin cardboard box he sat next to.

“Nothing,” he squeaked, hoping the man would forget about his objective and move on. Instead, he grunted, swinging down his hand in order to grab at Ray’s hands and take the small device. Ray yelped and rolled out of the way, hoping to flee as the offender lost his balance and crashed into brick wall. Unfortunately, the commotion seemed to wake his companion at the other end of the alley, who stood and lurched menacingly towards the boy. Ray looked back and forth between the hulking men who approached him from either side, desperately searching for an escape. He bolted for the entrance to the alleyway, knowing if he could only get into the street he could lose his attackers, but was caught and thrown to the ground by the newly awoken man who seemed more angry at being roused from his alcohol-induced slumber than anything else. Ray let out a cry of pain as he made contact with the cement below, trying desperately to get back on his feet before they could get any closer. He yelled again as the original man grabbed his arm and yanked him back forcefully towards him, being met with the stinking breath and greasy face of someone who hadn’t showered in a long, long time. 

He pulled one foot back and was about to start kicking with all of his force when a small voice from the street practically screamed, “ _ Stop! _ ” 

At the entry stood a short, pale kid with wild rust-coloured hair and glasses in desperate need of repair. The two older men started laughing, and the one still holding onto Ray began to dig his fingers into Ray’s skin when the newcomer charged with what sounded like a snarl into the closer man. Despite being much larger and probably far stronger, the surprise of the attack knocked the guy flat on his back and his head hit the pavement with a crack. The boy turned to Ray and the remaining adult, shoulders heaving, and started to advance on them when the man stepped back, releasing Ray and putting his hands up as he retreated, turning on his heel and almost falling on his face as he hurried to get away. Ray backed up as well, ready to run in the other direction if needed, when the boy extended one hand to him, the other scratching the back of his neck in an abashed gesture.

“I’m Michael,” the boy said with surprising shyness, not meeting Ray’s eyes. “Sorry if I scared you. They seemed like pretty bad guys though.”

Ray smiled and shook the other boy’s hand gladly, taking in the freckles and redness on the face of the boy who had been so furious only moments before. “Ray… I like your shirt,” he said, referring to Nintendo logo embellished on Michael’s dirty tee. 

“Thanks!” He replied, smiling. “Cool GameBoy!” He indicated the device Ray still clutched tightly in his hand, which was then immediately shoved into his backpack.

“Do you live around here?” Ray asked, deflecting the attention back towards the newcomer. 

Michael shrugged, turning away. “I move around. I was gonna go to this place with a spare mattress a few blocks away though… if you wanted to come…” He was obviously trying to be nonchalant, but his eyes practically begged Ray to follow.

“Awesome! I haven’t slept on a mattress in weeks!” Ray excitedly complied, hurrying to Michael’s side. The two walked together to the place Michael had described, talking the whole way. Michael explained the circumstances surrounding his own departure from home proudly, and Ray let out his story in short bursts when he could. Both boys had been on their own for so long, it was strange and refreshing to talk to someone their own age that knew what they were going through. From that night on, the two were inseparable. They worked together and struggled together, each bringing his own strengths to keeping them alive, with Michael as the protector and Ray as the negotiator, and it seemed as though the two had found their place and their purpose. Everything was perfect…

And then they met Gavin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now they have each other <3 Next week, Gavin! Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's introduction. The last of the three.

Gavin Free was an average 7-year old boy from Oxfordshire, England, whose mother had died when he was very young and whose father happened to be the leader of a criminal ring that spanned most of the U.K. and had roots and connections as far as Italy. As a result, Gavin had been around gang leaders and mob bosses all his life. He was expected to follow in his father's footsteps, so Mr. Free took Gavin everywhere with him; he could teach the boy by example, and his young son acted as insurance that his legacy would continue after he was gone.

  
This often meant two things for the Free men-- for one, the patriarch was able to expose his son to the hierarchy of the criminal world, and all of its inner workings. Gavin met crews from around the world, and learned where he fit in the big picture of the mob. The downside, of course, was the increased risk of attack from those who thought they could take out the Free empire in one fell swoop. Gavin was used to having to ditch cars or planes mid-trip, constantly wearing a bulletproof vest, being surrounded by guards, and even after every precaution, having their vehicle exploded and running with his father from gunfire.

  
It was on one of these such occasions that Gavin was left, alone and scared, in a foreign country with a price on his head.

 

  
It had started out as a normal meeting. Mr. Free and his son had just finished lunch with renowned crime boss Geoff Ramsey, bartering a trade deal between their respective rings, and were driving back to the airport for a private jet to take them home (Mr. Free was always careful to leave no trace wherever they went.)

  
They pulled up to the runway and Gavin could see their plane, was already imagining the view from the cockpit where the pilots were nice enough to let him sit on the longer rides, when he heard a definitive click from somewhere near the back of the car. For a moment, there was silence, and then Gavin was in father's arms as the man rushed to get them out of the car, sprinting towards the waiting plane. Gavin watched behind them as the vehicle they had only barely exited burst into a cloud of flames and shrapnel. The two were thrown by the force of the explosion, but barely had time to recover before the jet in front of them met the same fate. The blast was enough to to send both Frees tumbling backwards and separate Gavin from his father as they hit the pavement. For a terrifying moment, spots clouded Gavin's vision and his ears rang loud enough to block out any other sound, and then there were hands on him, pulling him to his feet and pushing him forward as his vision finally cleared to show his father, trying to tug him along, and his hearing returned enough for him to tell that they were, not for the first time, under gunfire. It seemed like bullets were coming from everywhere, but Gavin could see the servants his father had hired, holding their guns and aiming, instead of at the obvious threat, but at /them/, and realised that someone must have offered more money to kill the Frees than they had been paid to protect them.

  
They had almost made it, were almost behind cover, when one, precise shot to the temple took down the head of the Free empire. Everything stopped at once, and then he was grabbing his dad's hand and trying, desperately, to pull him to safety. Tears welled in his eyes as he saw the blood begin to pool around his father's head and he fell to his knees, trying to will the life into the last bit of family he had left, but to no avail. Gavin felt as though he had been shot in the heart. He wanted to lay down right there next to his father, to stay with him until he, too, had no blood left to spill...

  
And that's when he heard "Boss said twice for whoever brings in the kid", and the bullets returned. Gavin didn't even have time to think before the survival instincts his father had practically drilled into him kicked in, and he was running for his life, again, but this time he was alone. A bullet found the Kevlar at the small of his back and he fell, face first, on the ground but was up again before his attackers could even lower their weapons. He made it inside the empty hangar beside the runway, climbed up the metal ladder, and raced to the back of the building. He hid behind a few barrels stacked in a corner as two of the attackers came through the same way he had.

  
"We know you're in here, boy!" One of them yelled out. "Come out now and we'll go easy on you!... Probably." The thug and his friend laughed at that, but Gavin couldn't even move aside from shaking. He closed his eyes, hoping and praying to anyone who would listen that they wouldn't find him. He heard their footsteps echo as they began to walk around the hangar, and then stop and run out suddenly as gunfire resumed outside. Gavin didn't know what had caused the distraction- didn't care, honestly- but he took the opportunity to escape, clambering down the ladder and sprinting out the back door, the sounds of combat coming from somewhere behind him still on the runway.

  
Gavin didn't know where he was or where he would go, but he almost remembered the way they had come from, and maybe he could find the Ramsey guy, ask for his help, or find a way to get back to England. Either way, Gavin started heading in the direction he thought was the city, only looking back after a particularly loud explosion and seeing a man with what looked like a skull mask and a rocket launcher standing at the front gates, trapping the Free turncoats.

  
Gavin made it to the city, somehow, but he was alone, more alone than he had ever been, and he was scared. And he knew that someone wanted him dead. So there was that.

  
He finally collapsed, exhausted and out of tears to cry, somewhere downtown next to a well-lit diner, knowing that he couldn't go in without any money or family, looking the way he did, without questions being asked and having no answers besides "I'm the son of a mob boss who I just saw murdered." Something told him that wouldn't go quite the way he would want, so he stayed where he was. Eventually, he decided that the stack of boxes at the rear of the alley where he sat would make a good bed for the night. He pulled at a box near the outside of the stack, and at first it wouldn't budge. When it did, he was met with a very angry looking kid with too many freckles looking up at him. The boy seemed just as surprised as Gavin himself did, but that didn't stop him from jumping up and practically _screaming_  "HEY, THAT'S OUR HOUSE".

Gavin tripped over himself trying to back away from the kid and landed, still holding the cardboard box, on his butt. A second, darker haired kid that Gavin hadn't noticed before popped out of the box-house as well, rubbing his eyes groggily.

  
"Wha's goin on, Michael?" He asked, speech slurred with sleep.

  
"This jerkoff just broke our house!!" The first kid, who couldn't be that much older than Gavin, complained to his companion. 

The second kid turned to Gavin, rubbed his eyes one more time, and said, "Can we have that back?"

Gavin blinked, confused, before remembering the box that he still held. "Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry." He got up and handed the box to the kid, who started trying to re-attach it from the inside. 

The angry boy, Michael, scrunched up his face at Gavin's words. "How come you talk funny?"

"I don't talk funny!" Gavin replied defensively. "I'm just from England. Everyone talks like I do, there."

Michael rolled his eyes, but the other kid had paused in his repair efforts and was looking at him with interest. "If you're from England, why are you here? Are you lost?"

"I- yeah. I'm kinda lost. I can't go home." Better safe than sorry, right?

"Oh." Michael's expression softened significantly at that. "Well... Do you need somewhere to sleep? We have some more room in here. If you don't have anywhere to go."

Gavin was taken aback. Was this seriously the same kid who yelled at him moments ago? He wondered what had caused such a change. 

"We're kinda lost too. We can't go home either. I'm Ray, by the way," the black haired kid piped in, still struggling to fix the detached box.

"Uhh... Yeah, actually. That'd be top!" Gavin decided on the spot. Some friends would be pretty handy right now, and his dad had always told him to make connections. "I'm Gavin!" He added as an afterthought. 

"Grabbin? That's weird. People from England talk weird," Michael commented. Nevertheless, he moved to open the front "door" for Gavin and let him crawl inside before going to Ray and fixing the box's placement immediately. 

Gavin waited until he was pretty sure the others were asleep before shedding a few more tears for his dad as he too, went to sleep.

 

And so two became three. And all good things come in threes. Or... Something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry my dudes, I meant to have this up by Friday and it got delayed because I was moving. This is the end of the introductory chapters. School has started so.... We'll see if I ever write the full story. Thank y'all so much for your support!!!


End file.
